"And I'm not a Valok, Giana."
I froze.
"You—" My voice cracked. "You heard that?"
"The part about me stealing your beauty?" His lips twitched. "Yes. Along with the part about you being a 'young maiden, technically,' and the part about Old Man Hendrick's drunken storytelling, and the part where you mentally prepared your funeral eulogy complete with the phrase 'now she's just a cautionary tale and a very wrinkled corpse.'"
The heat that flooded my cheeks could have melted the frozen waterfall behind him.
"Oh gods," I whispered. "Oh gods. I was thinking out loud? I was thinking out loud the entire time?"
"You were not just thinking out loud." His voice was carefully, deliberately neutral, but his eyes were dancing. "You were thinking at a volume that could have alerted the village below. The ants two miles down the mountain heard your internal monologue about virgin sacrifice and beauty theft. I simply happened to be close enough to catch the details."
I pressed my hands to my burning face. "I want to die."
"You were also mentally rehearsing a very dramatic speech about facing your fate with dignity," he continued mercilessly. "I particularly enjoyed the part where you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin. Very heroic. Very doomed."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." He was definitely smiling now—a real smile, wide and warm and devastating. "You climbed a mountain because you couldn't bear the thought of me being alone. That is not the behaviour of someone who hates me."
I peeked through my fingers. "I could hate you now. For the mind-reading. That's allowed."
"I don't read minds, Giana. I can, but you were thinking very loudly—out loud, through your actual mouth," he repeated, as if that excused everything. "It would have been rude not to listen."
I made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh—mostly because if I didn't laugh, I was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
He was still smiling. Still looking at me like I was something precious and absurd and wonderful all at once.
And despite the mortification, despite the heat in my cheeks, despite the certain knowledge that I would never live this down for the rest of my mortal life.
Right now, I had a laughing king and a mountain and a future that suddenly looked a lot less lonely than it had an hour ago.
"Shut up," I muttered.
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face is saying things."
"My face is saying that you are the most entertaining mortal I have encountered."
"That's not a compliment."
"It absolutely is."
I dropped my hands from my face and glared at him.
"Fine," I huffed. "But if you ever tell anyone about this—about any of this—I will find a way to make your immortal existence very, very difficult."
His smile widened. "Giana."
"What?"
"I have been alone for thousands of years. You are the first person to threaten me and mean it as a promise of continued company." He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine. "I would not trade that for anything."
And just like that, the embarrassment faded, replaced by something warmer, something that settled into my chest like a second heartbeat.
"Okay," I whispered. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
He closed his eyes again, and this time when he opened them, the hope was still there—stronger now, steadier.
And so was the smile.